


Art School Assholes Of  Hollywood Hills

by graywrites



Category: Victorious
Genre: Childhood Friends, F/F, Fluff and Angst, Friends to Lovers, Slow Burn
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2017-08-08
Updated: 2017-08-08
Packaged: 2018-12-12 16:11:08
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,316
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11740554
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/graywrites/pseuds/graywrites
Summary: Nothing new is ever easy, and a performing art’s school is absolutely no exception. The closest thing Tori has to familiarity in this very new, very strange environment is, surprisingly enough, her best friend from nearly a decade ago- the one, the only, Jade West.





	Art School Assholes Of  Hollywood Hills

**Author's Note:**

> ok so! this is a multichapter fic based on the original idea that jade was going to be tori's childhood friend, and trina was gonna be tori's nemesis. (idk if i deadass want trina to be evil i havent decided) so this is like a slowburn slight AU. this part isnt fantastic bc honestly first chapters are clunky & full of filler you know?

The beginning of everything, like most things, starts with the sound of your older sister screaming. Somewhere far beyond the curtain up on stage, her whine rings true and is enough to draw everyone’s attention, as well as your parents back to where she is, swollen tongue and all, totally incapable of any kind of speech, let alone singing.

 

Or, otherwise, it starts in the blinding glow of stage lights, new bruises forming on your limbs after kicking and screaming your way through an entire team of talented teenagers trying to force you into the replacement of your older sister for something you don’t know how to do for a school you don’t attend. Standing in the middle of the stage, ragged breath choking out from your heaving chest, curtain sliding open as you stand there, mic in your hair, sure you’re gonna choke, providing enough material for Trina to torture you for months, and, _oh, god, is this being recorded?_

 

Or, if that’s too soon, then it’s in between screaming your own anxieties back and forth between students and teachers just behind the curtain after it should be all over and done with, until you see the parting seas of the moving curtains and Andre is calling out to an audience of parents that don’t really want to be there, asking them to reassure you, leaving you standing there, starstruck, mouth agape, watching applause wave through the audience telling you that you did something good.

 

Well, regardless of how it started, all of _this_ \- it certainly did, because why else would you be trailing along behind your sister as you entire the main hall of a foreign place, bottom lip firmly between your teeth, shoulders tense under the straps of your bag? God, you feel like a freshman all over again.

 

“Just don’t get lost,” Trina spins on her heels for a moment to address you. “That’s rule number one about this school.”

 

“I-I don’t know where any of my classes are,” You grip at the straps of your bag, rolling your eyes at your older sister.

 

“You have your schedule, right? With the room numbers?” She prompts you.

 

“Well, yeah, but I-” you start.

 

“Then you’re fine! Okay, good luck, don’t tell anybody you know me,” Trina waves you off as she takes off towards the east hall.

 

“But, Trina, wait-”

 

“Heyheyhey, rule number two, don’t acknowledge me while we’re at school, Tori,” She says, not turning back.

 

“I don’t know how to get to my classes!” You call back after her into an increasingly empty main hall.

 

“Bummer! Good luck with that!” Her voice echoes behind her, but she’s long gone, leaving you by yourself as the bell rings loud and clear above you.

 

You groan and throw your head back in defeat. Fantastic first impression, right? Being late to first period on your very first day, incredible. Does that get you a detention here? Who’s your teacher, even? You lay your bag down and start rummaging through it in hopes to find your schedule, when the door opens behind you.

 

“Hey, the bell rung yet?” A voice calls from behind you. You turn your head to face a girl with white and green streaks running through her hair, cup of coffee in hand, no backpack in sight, heavy eyeliner weighing on her lashes.

 

“ _Yes_ ,” you huff dramatically, running a hand through your disheveled hair. Her eyebrows jump up slightly, but then she squints at you.

 

“I don’t know you,” she points at you with her free hand, “you don’t go here. Who’re you?” She questions.

 

With a sigh, you pull out your schedule, and stand up to face her. “Uh, Tori? I’m Tori Vega. I didn’t go here. Now I do. As of… today,” you motion around.

 

She pauses, eyes going wide. “Say that again,” she prompts.

 

“Uh, I didn’t go here-” you start.

 

“No, no, dude, what’s your name?” She halfheartedly conceals an eyeroll. Only your first encounter with a student, and it’s already going over your head.

 

“Tori Vega?” You try, wondering if that’s the wrong answer, somehow. That _is_ your name. You’re… almost sure of it.

 

She smirks for a moment, then nods. “I’m Jade West,” she says expectantly, leaving you waiting.

 

Jade West. _Jade West…_ The name sounds kind of familiar, you think, and- “Oh my God, Jade?” You question. What are the odds, huh? “It’s been a while,” you laugh lightly. Your immediate urge is to hug her, but you resist. It’s been since kindergarten, you’re practically strangers now, nothing but a ghost of a memory to one another. That leaves sparse room for physical interaction.

 

“If a while is ten years, then yeah, I guess,” she shrugs. “What’re you doing here, anyways?”

 

“I… sing now, I guess. Kind of a long story. Swollen tongues, crazy sisters, that kind of thing,” you say, as if any of that makes any vague amount of sense at all.

 

“By sister, you mean the one that put gum in my hair?” She asks, quirking an eyebrow (complete with a stud through it) and taking a long sip of her coffee.

 

“That’s the one. And she hasn’t changed since,” you laugh, and she joins you. “Anyways, a crowd full of adults and several teams of girls in strange costumes forced me to come here, and here I am, with absolutely no idea where first period is, and already, like, five minutes late,” you glance down at your schedule hopelessly.

 

She grabs it out of your hand and peers down at it. “Hey, Sikowitz, score!” She offers, glancing up at you.

 

“Sikowitz?”.

 

“Acting teacher. He’s your first hour. Mine too. Come with me.” Jade grabs you by the wrist and leads you down the twists of this brand-new alcove of a school.

 

“This place is huge,” you mumble under your breath.

 

“You get used to it,” she shrugs beside you, leading you deeper and deeper into the school, past many a poster and closed classroom door.

 

“How long have you been going here?”

 

“Since last year, ever since I got kicked out of that all girls prep school,” she chuckles like it’s a prized memory, and you fight the urge to ask _how_ , exactly, she’d managed that.

 

“The one you went to in first grade, instead of Sherwood?” You ask her as you move past a group of kids doing choreography in the middle of the hallway. Weird school. One almost kicks you in the face and you let out a squeal as you move past him, further on down the hall.

 

“That’s the one. Dad was gonna make me go to another one, a boarding school, but I guess mom convinced him to let me go here, instead, so. Hollywood arts, one year strong,” she shrugs, sounding disinterested.

 

You kind of remember her mom- you’d always liked her. Her dad, not so much.

 

No sooner does silence fall than she’s stopping you in front of one of the many doors in the corridor. She promptly throws away her now empty coffee cup, then says, “hey, punch me in the stomach,” as if it’s some very nonchalant thing to ask of someone on a Tuesday morning.

 

“What- no!” You shake your head, confused. She rolls her eyes slightly, but doesn’t press. She starts breathing deeply, then puts one hand around your wrist, opens the door, and puts the other hand over her face.

 

“Late,” a man wearing clown pants that you can only assume is your teacher says, whipping around to face you, whiteboard marker in hand, like it’s some kind of threat.

 

“I-I’m sorry, it’s…” She says, choked up, as if she’s trying to hold back tears, hand still loosely over her mouth. You’re kind of concerned for a minute, before she says, “Tori’s sister… she… she ran over my dog. We were gonna take him to the vet, but…” Jade lets out a sob. _Ooooh._ Weird, weird school. You have to admit appreciate the efforts of trying to avoid getting scolded for being tardy, but this is… much.

 

“He was dead before we could even lift him up!” Jade exclaims, mascara running down her face. You kind of wonder if she gets the kind that isn’t waterproof just for effect. You pat her shoulder awkwardly, only for her to bury her face in your chest, still feigning some terrible grief. You blush slightly, rubbing her back and nodding halfheartedly.

 

“Jade, you don’t have a dog,” a girl with bright red hair says from her seat next to you. Jade hushes her viciously from behind her hand.

 

“It’s… tragic,” you nod solemnly. You think your performance might need a little work. Not that you came in especially prepared. All of the eyes are on you and a sobbing Jade.

 

“Miss West,” the teacher calls from the front of the class. Jade raises her head from your chest slightly to turn and look at him. “That was worthy of a C+, at best. The fake crying, admirable as it was, was a touch too _dramatic_ ,” he says, drawing out the syllables of ‘dramatic.’ “Follow up comment- if your dog really got run over in the middle of the street, even if it died almost immediately, you would be at _least_ fifteen minutes late. You two are only-” he glances at his watch, “seven.”

 

So this is a school where people lie about dead dogs, then get graded on it by crazy men with whiteboard markers and colorful scarves. You suppose it’s a lot more interesting than your old school, at least?

 

“Bite me,” Jade snarls with a heavy roll of her eyes, taking a seat on the right side of the class. That is _not_ how she talked to the teachers in kindergarten. (Okay, well, it kind of is, but her vocabulary was certainly less… colorful.)

 

“Oh, Jade, always delightful,” the teacher chimes, before turning to you. “And who is this lovely little gumdrop?” He approaches you. Weird school, man. Weird teacher, clown pants, kindergarten friends that have boobs now- weird school.

 

“Uh… Tori?” You offer. This whole ‘new-school’ thing requires a lot more repeating your name over and over than you’re comfortable with.

 

“Tori! From the showcase! Wonderful!” He claps giddily. “Any questions, ‘Uh, Tori?””

 

“Yeah, uh, will a C+ be my first grade in this class? ‘Cause I’d really hate for my GPA to go down just because Jade cries too dramatically,” you smirk, gesturing to Jade.

 

“Hey! I was trying to save your lost ass from getting marked late!” She defends, hands up in protest, but a small laugh gives her away. “No to mention your improv _sucks_.”

 

“That’s accurate, but I still take offense to it,” you huff, crossing your arms.

 

“You two know each other?” Andre asks, eyebrows raised from his seat in front of Jade.  Andre’s in this class, right. You remember showing him your schedule last night, and him lining up the ones he had with you.

 

“Oh, yeah, this kid and me, we go way back to a full decade ago,” Jade snickers.

 

“It’s true. We really tore up Mrs. Patterson’s kindergarten class,” you agree, taking a seat in the general area of Jade and all of her friends, unsure of the etiquette or where one should sit in their first class at a new school which is shared with one’s friend from when one was five.

 

“I hated that bitch,” Jade shakes her head, snarl forming on her lips.

 

“Yeah, _I remember_ ,” you scoff, calling back to her many five-year-old revolutions against Mrs. Patterson and the alphabet.

 

“HEY! We don’t speak of it,” Jade says seriously, leaning forward in her seat until your faces are only inches away. You consider speaking, but no words come out as you’re trapped in her eyes. Ten years, but God, her eyes stayed the same, huh?

 

“Ooookay,” you laugh lightly, vocal chords finally coming to your rescue. She smiles, now satisfied, and pulls away.

 

“Aw, I wanna hear all the stories from when you were a little kid,” a boy on her right with some really great hair says. He then turns to you. “By the way, I’m Beck. It’s nice to meet you, Tori,” he smiles at you, holding out his hand, and you take it.

 

Before you can respond, your brand new crazy teacher is yelling at the front of the room about the importance of staying in character, so you do your best to turn around and pay attention for the duration of your very first class.

 

By the time the sun has come to a full rise outside of the window, the class is over, and you’re tugging the wrinkled class schedule given to you only yesterday out of your shirt pocket, squinting at the class numbers once again as kids start clearing out around you.

 

“Lemme see,” Jade comes up behind you and takes it out of your hands. She looks down at it for a moment, then nods. “Ah, poor kid, you’ve got Wells for History,” she shakes her head with a small smirk. “He’ll chew you up and eat you alive,” she puts a hand on your shoulder. “Don’t be late. Seriously. He’ll kill you, Tori,” she laughs, like it’s funny or something.

 

“I don’t know where he is!” You tell her with exasperation.

 

She sighs for a moment, the holds the schedule up against the wall, scribbling something down on it. “It’s down this hallway, on your left. Look for the number, it’s easy to find. Only door with nothing decorative on it, actually. If you get really lost or something, text me,” she says, final sigh escaping her lips, like it’s some big burden, but the irritation feels exaggerated.

 

“Oh. Thanks,” you nod slowly, watching her leave with a small wave.

 

You guess maybe you stand there for a beat too long or something, because by the time it occurs to you to move, Sikowitz is telling you that you better leave before you’re late to two classes in a row. You blush, but exit, and believe it or not, you actually _do_ find your way to class in time, with roughly two and a half seconds to spare.

 

The teacher doesn’t actually bother to have you introduce yourself, but he does call your name during attendance, so at least you know you’re in the system, or whatever. He starts talking, but it’s on something Sherwood covered last week, and you even got a B on the quiz, so you figure that’s enough to give you a quick daydreaming pass. Mostly, all that’s on your mind is Jade- along with how bizarre your whole situation is, suddenly being thrust into this world of fast paced talent.

 

Primarily, though, your mind lingers on your former friend- she sure doesn’t have bangs or baby teeth anymore. And the dyed hair, oh man. Awfully hard to picture your five-year-old friend all grown up- or, well, something near it- but you’d be lying if you said she didn’t grow up awfully well. You wonder if she thinks the same thing about you.

 

It’s weird, seeing her after so long like that. You remembered her, but you never actually thought you’d see her again. Today’s full of a lot of new things, huh? Well, at the very least you can say that you’re kind of glad you came to this school, after all.

 

You spend the next two hours wandering through the halls from class to class with an eager repetition of your name, your sisters name, and the willful confirmation that no, you aren’t anything like her, and yes, she is like that at home, too. Up until lunch, all you have is the academic classes, but to your credit, you do have third period biology with Andre, and Jade’s friend- Beck?

 

That makes it a little easier to fare through, but after fifty-five minutes of anatomy talk, you’re sent reeling back into an unfamiliar world to fourth period English, which you have alone. It seems to drag on forever- you’ve never loved Steinbeck. You doubt any teenager really does.

 

Like all things good and bad, though, fourth period comes to an end, the chime of a bell and the rush of a crowd of rowdy teenagers the dead giveaway that lunch is this hour. You manage to let the sea of moving bodies guide you to the outdoor area where kids are sat talking and eating, and, spare a sharp elbow directly into your ribs, you make it out alright.

 

You take a tentative step forward, gazing around the area. Some kids are preforming in the parking lot, amazing choreography that makes your head spin and reminds you that you probably don’t deserve to be here, all the while you can hear singing coming from the awning above you that’s almost definitely way better than yours will ever be.

 

You shake your head, roll your eyes, and tighten your grip on your backpack strap. Whatever, that’s stupid, and you’re hungry, and you don’t know where to sit. You doubt your sister will let you within fifteen feet of her- high school restraining order, as if _you’re_ some big deficit to _her_ popularity.

 

You could sit with Jade- no, wait, would that be weird? Just because you were friends when you were _five_ doesn’t mean you’re friends now. She probably has lots of friends now, and you’re definitely not a part of that crowd- you just got here. Her showing you the common courtesy of telling you where your class is doesn’t mean you’re suddenly best friends or anything, dumbass.

 

Well, Andre is always an option. If you could ever manage to find him. There are too many people in this school, dammit! Ugh, you’ll just have to-

 

“Hey, Tori,” Andre puts a hand on your shoulder, leading you with him to a table. Or that. That works. How convenient. Maybe this school isn’t all bad or anything.

 

“Hi,” you mutter, taking a seat at the table he’s led you to as a group forms around you. Andre, Beck, _Jade_ , a kid with a puppet, and the red haired girl that Jade shushed in your first class today. You really, _really_ don’t wanna know about the puppet.

 

“Hi, I’m Tori,” you tell the two kids you don’t know the names of yet. You glance around- strange group of kids. You kind of wonder how they all became friends. When you pictured Jade’s friend group, this is definitely not exactly what you’d been expecting.

 

The boy with the puppet manages to choke out that his name is Robbie, and then he starts speaking through the puppet, apparently named Rex, but you try to remind yourself that this isn’t a regular school as you do breathing exercises in your head to deal with being hit on by a ventriloquist’s dummy, wondering if this is all some kind of dream.

 

The girl next to him introduces herself as Cat with a soft voice and an excitable attitude, and you just kind of take that at face value as she tugs some licorice out of her bra and begins to eat it for lunch. Okay. All right.

 

“So, how’s Hollywood Art’s newest addition liking our wonderful little school so far?” Jade drawls, eyebrows raised with a smile forming on her lips.

 

“It’s…” you search to find the right words that won’t come out rude. “It sure is something,” you laugh, shaking your head. You aren’t wrong.

 

“Yeah, that pretty much sums it up,” Beck says, content with your final decision.

 

“What class you got next?” Jade asks, holding out her hand across the table, asking for your schedule. You hand it over compliantly, figuring she probably knows it better than you.

 

“Oh, cool. Songwriting next, Andre and I have that, too,” she nods, handing it back to you.

 

“It’s the best class, objectively,” Andre says, then pauses. “I’ve never been sure exactly what that word means. You get the point. It’s fun, you’ll like it. You’ll fit right in,” he tells you. You’re not sure if that’s true- you haven’t felt like you’ve been doing much fitting in the last few hours. Everything feels big and extravagant and beyond you. The only thing remotely familiar is… well, Jade.

 

Even so, you try and stay focused on what everyone is saying about some school function going on this Friday, but lunch passes much faster than you’d like for it to. That’s something Sherwood and Hollywood Arts has in common, you suppose, because before you know it, it’s fifth hour, and You’re sitting in between Andre and Jade as the cool young teacher announces that the class has a songwriting project coming up, and you’ll be in partnerships. He doesn’t give details, just requests that everyone pairs off in their partnerships and sign up now.

 

Partners. All right. Upon the teachers silence, the room erupts in boisterous noise, and Andre, to your right, has already left. Meanwhile, though, to your relief, Jade turns to you. “You can be my partner. I’ll show you what to do,” she tells you, as if it’s some very gracious gift, but you’d have to admit that you are a little grateful. The worst part of any partner activity is standing awkwardly, wavering in the air as everyone else pairs off in front of you. That’s not a problem you’re used to having- you had a lot of friends at your old school, and you’re pretty good at making them, but… partner work on your first day at a new school has a very clear pathway to becoming very cruel.

 

You nod, and tell Jade that you’ll go and sign up on the teacher’s sheet. She simply nods, and you leave her there, entering the growing line of teenagers. Andre sneaks up to your side and makes a cut in the line, greeting you.

 

“You don’t mind, do you?” He gestures to himself as he nestles into his spot in front of you in line.

 

“Nah, it’s fine. Long line,” you laugh. He grins in response.

 

“Sorry I left so fast, but I’d already promised my friend that next project, I’d do it with him. Who’re you with, anyways?” He explains apologetically.

 

“Oh, me and Jade are gonna do it together. She said she’d ‘show me what to do,’” you chuckle.

 

“So, you and Jade, you were real close, huh?” He raises an eyebrow at you, then glances over at Jade, still sat in her seat, neck craned back to the ceiling.

 

You shrug. “We were five. I mean, I guess. We played together a lot after school,” you offer. “Why?”

 

“Man, I’ve never seen Jade be that nice to _anybody_. Not even Beck. It’s not how she is. ‘S weird,” he shakes his head. “I mean, she can be a real _you-know-what_ sometimes, but with you? Nothin’ but helpful. Never seen anything like it.”

 

You pause for a minute. What do you say to that, huh? You consider asking about Beck, but then then Andre is turning around to write down his name and his partners on the sheet, and without saying any more, he goes back to the other end of the class. Well, that certainly gives you something to think about, you guess.

 

After fifth period, you have math, to which you are three minutes late. You end up having to text Jade, but she has a really hard time figuring out where you even _are_ based on your description, and then she stops texting you at all, leaving you to figure it out on your own. Eventually, you do manage to find your way to room 204, but not without a strongly worded lecture on the importance of punctuality, before you explain that it’s your very first day. On the upside, you have that class Robbie, and he seems pretty smart, and relatively nice, (if a little odd,) so you figure if you get stuck on any problems, maybe he could give you a hand.

 

Sixth period, you have French, with Jade (and Cat). Jade, fuming, tells you that her phone got taken away last hour. That entire hour she’s full of venting and empty threats to her asshole fifth hour teacher, and it really brings a brand-new meaning to the expression ‘pardon my French.’

 

The rest of the day drags by, but eventually, the final bell rings, and though Trina tries, she does not manage to leave without you. When you get home, you collapse on the couch with a grateful sigh as your sister storms up to her room, leaving you and your mom alone in the living room.

 

“Long day?” Your mother questions. You give a nod as you position your legs onto the back of the couch, hair cascading down to the floor. “Good day, though? Was it fun?”

 

“Yeah, I think it was mostly fun,” you tell her, letting your eyes unfocus.

 

“Do you feel talented? Is it exciting? Did you make any friends?” She presses, nudging at your shoulder with her shoe.

 

“Talented, debatable. Exciting, a little nerve-wracking. I have a few classes with Andre. Oh, and, hey! Do you remember that girl I was, like, best friends with when I was, like, five?” You ask, craning your head to look at her.

 

“Jade? Yeah, of course, why?” She says, almost immediately. Kind of impressive.

 

“She goes there, too. Her and Andre are friends, I think,” You tell her. She continues to ask you her very _mom_ questions, telling you how much she liked Jade’s mom and asking you about how you’re liking the school, but mostly you’re not paying attention. Mostly you’re just thinking about school.

 

You’re not one to really judge based on first impression, but if your first day at Hollywood Arts is anything to go by, then you’re half inclined to think that maybe things will be good here.

**Author's Note:**

> hope u enjoyed, do me a favor & leave me a comment! i still don't 100% kno what i want to overarching plot to be, so tell me what you'd like to see, let me know if you want it to be mostly canon compliant except gay, (I.E. things like the bird scene still happen but are redone in this AU.) tell me what u though, give me any ideas u wanna see, and hmu @ my tumblr, thejorishore.tumblr.com/ask


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